The Tiger
by Myley
Summary: Frederick Sackville-Bagg, adult vampire. Tony Thompson, human teenager. One struggles with his moral values, the other relishes the attention of the one he never thought he would have. Slash
1. Chapter 1

**Right ! Here is a one shot I have just written. The words have been dancing in my head for days and the image of them would not leave me alone so I decided to put all down on a paper and it has given this. I was highly inspired by The Tiger by Blake when I wrote it which explains the quotation at the end as well as the title.**

**I wasn't so sure about publishing it though, this fandom seems rather "childish" compared to other fandoms such as Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings to which I am more used. I fear this might be too "dark" for readers.**

**WARNING : Slash, age gap, Tony is a teenager here (so give him between 15 and 17 it's up to you !)**

**PAIRING : Tony/Frederick, mention of Frederick/Freda**

**PS : in case you misread, there is NO rape in this story. Just so you don't go thinking Frederick is molesting Tony because it's NOT the case.**

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**THE TIGER**

I had always been a righteous man. Never once in my life had I led myself astray. I was a proud, strong, self-controlled man who knew no sin nor committed any.

Then you came into my life, and a breach opened beneath my feet.

I look at Freda – so oblivious of my recent deeds – and shame embraces me. I think of what I have done and what you made of me. You set the animal within free. My eyes close. I can feel my useless breath quickening, deepening, burning my every brain cells to ashes as I picture ivory skin in my mind, softer than velvet, fingers lighter than the wind.

And your eyes, way too blue, way too deep, way too expressive. And your mouth, pink shining lips that spread in the most beautiful of smiles, aspire the air between us when everything around is nothing more than a blur, whisper my name in the most beautiful possible of ways.

I shiver. What have you done to me ? Look what you have made of me ! From an Aristocratic man, you turned me into a wild beast.

The sun is ready for its eleven hours sleep, soon the night sky will be reigning above the silent world. Are you stirring my sweet Angel ?

Beautiful Angel. Angel of Damnation. You were sent to Earth to be my downfall. I know it now.

I wish I could be gentle. You do not deserve brutality. I wish I could take my time, do it properly, use everything I must use to make it good for you. But not tonight. Tonight I am too much in a hurry. Tonight I feel selfish. I want you raw. You gasp out of pain. We are both on fire. I have entered a volcano whose lava taints my cold flesh. I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. But remember, Angel, when you are near, Desire is the Master ; mere spectator that I become, locked inside my prison mind. The beast runs free.

Freda always used to complain about my frigidity.

My hands roam over your skin – so warm – and I have forgotten where I am, who I am, and why there is blood on my lips. Your fault. Meal body. My hunger of you is untameable. My Angel – so pure, so beautiful. I cannot tell who is inside of who, what is inside of what, which one is my body and which one is yours. You breath into me, I move into you and nothing else matters.

You are resting now. I can still taste you in my mouth, feel the vibrations of your pliant body underneath mine. I run a hand through the blond nest on your head and smile before gazing at the room. There are school books spread on the desk just beside your baby pictures and dread engulfs me as I remember that I have a child in my arms. I stare down at you. Just a sleeping child, hardly older than my own son and I feel sick. I no longer am proud nor righteous. I am disgusting. Dozens of bite marks spoil your beauty, your purity, your innocence. Their redness scar your skin from your beardless chest to your thighs. I have left my sickening trace all over your flesh, deep inside your flesh. Dead seed necroses your living body.

I retch.

I move to get out of the sinful bed but a soft hand grab my cold wrist. Your way too much expressive eyes lock into mine, silently begging me to stay. You know I cannot. I should not even be here. I answer your mute question visually. You lower your gaze in disappointment. I am sorry, Angel. You too want to get up but wince with pain instead. Red dots defile the sheet. I gulp. My poor little Prince, I never meant to hurt you. You feel my guilt and try to mend it away. You say you are alright, you are fine and everything will be okay. Your hand is still holding onto my wrist in a firm grasp. I know you will not let go. Stubbornness is your second trait. Your eyes keep begging. The sheet has fallen down your hip and my gaze follows its path. You gently smile at me. Why can you not realize how wrong this is ? That would make things so much easier. Why does your face always shine in gentleness for me ? I am physically as old as your father, my skin cold as a grave, my mouth aspiring the life out of you like a repulsive leech, tearing your fragile skin apart. Yet, you keep smiling as if I were the most precious thing on Earth, your eyes so soft it hurts. So frail. It is not innocence, it is madness.

"Please", you say, pleading.

Do not. I beg of you, Tony, do not say anything. Have Mercy.

"Don't go."

Why ? Why must you torture me so ? Your voice, as sweet as honey and I can almost taste it on the tip of my tongue. You get up entirely, your beauty fully revealed to my agonizing eye. I tear my gaze away. You laugh. It sounds like liquid crystal.

You put your hand on my chest and your warm breath tickles my neck. You speak but I cannot decipher a single word of what you are saying. I already feel my conscience retreating into the dark corner of my sleeping mind, and the beast begins to roar.

I must resist. Where has my legendary self-control gone ? I quickly gaze at you. You bite your bottom lip, nervously. Oh please Tony ! Do not play the shy little boy with me ! Don't you have a slight of pity for my poor conscience ? You make obscene propositions to my ear with that timid look of yours and I feel sick. Where has my legendary self-control gone ?

Your fault. My hunger of you is untameable. My Angel – so pure, so beautiful as I feel myself deliciously knocking the back of your throat.

Freda is smiling at me, Rudolph laughing with you and from the corner of my eye I know you frequently glance at me. You lick your lips – do you even realize how sensual you look ? – and my breath quicken. I must go in another room. You are not mine. You cannot be mine. Not here, not now, not ever. I must forget what you look like with your eyes close, breath taken away, skin glistening with sweat. Still naked in my hazy mind, still there in the room. I need you, need to have you, see you, taste you, eat you, swallow you, absorb you until you become my five senses. Meal body, soul feast.

I feel sick. The beast begins to roar.

I hold you by the waist as I bury myself into you, deeper than I have ever been. So deep it must be unhealthy. I feel you arch your back to give me better access and I am so far into you that your body might as well suck me in and become a second grave. You gasp and tremble and tense and relax and cry and exhilarate and you are so perfect that I want to die for good.

_When the stars threw down their spears,  
And water'd heaven with their tears,  
Did He smile His work to see?  
Did He who made the lamb make thee? _

William Blake

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**Hope you liked it ! I want to write a second part with Tony's point of view. I'll write it as soon as possible but I think I'll only publish it if you liked the first part (in case I have traumatized some readers)**

**Oh and by the way, I am SO SICK of all those Gregory/OC girls ! Come on girls use your brain differently, those production-line stories are really getting boring ! They are so unoriginal ! Am I the only one who think so ?**

**Anyway ! See you next episode !**


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNING : very crude language, strong references to sex (between two men)  
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**The chapters of this story will be disconnected and rather random. They will actually borrow the ideas of another fic I wrote for this fandom.  
**

**Hope you will like this second chapter !  
**

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I'm in love with you.

Say it's wrong, disgusting, unnatural, unhealthy ; it's probably a mix of all. Contrary to what you may be thinking, I know very well my feelings and attraction for you are to be frowned upon – I'm an under-aged, you're a married man, and we're both males which definitely doesn't add a bonus to the situation. I'm aware of all the things I should be aware of. But I don't care because I'm madly, deeply, incredibly, irrevocably in love with you, and have been since I'm of age to get a boner.

My crude language would shock you. I can picture you scowling at me with that disproving look of yours. Words are not your greatest ally. You act a lot but say little.

I know you don't understand the passion I have for your being. You are everything one would seek in a lover : strong, reliable, dedicated, trustworthy, brave and handsome as the Devil with your pale and broken beauty that set me ablaze.

I also know you're ashamed of yourself – I must be the only person in the whole universe to have succeeded in having Frederick the Great lose his famous self-control (Freda set aside, I suppose) . If anyone had told me that my dream lover would be fucking me every two nights, I would've laughed my guts out. To be fair, what was the probability for someone as amazing as you to develop the slightest inclination for a brat like me ? Answer is : zero. There was zero chance. And yet, the dozens of bite marks on my body invalidate the statistics.

The fact I'm a dude doesn't help neither – I mean, homosexuality in the seventeenth century ? Especially when I'm the queer and you... attracted to me out of accident ? Luck ? Chance ? Dark magic ? Who knows ! You probably consider yourself as a pervert who takes advantage of a defenseless kid.

I'm not a kid.

Nor am I naive, nor innocent, nor pure nor any other angelic descriptive adjectives you may think relevant to draw a portrait of my teenage self. I'm not a candid victim trapped in the web of a predator. I perfectly knew what I was doing that day when I gave you my blood to save your life. I knew I would have trouble controlling the reactions of my body as I knew I was destroying the barricade you had erected for yourself – I awoke your craving for human blood. But I thought it would remain just that : a blood craving.

Never in my wildest dreams had I envisioned being actually allowed to kneel in front of you and make you cum in my mouth. The first time I did that, I thought you'd just kill me ! I mean, come on, you're not the kind of person one would picture as _sexually involved_. You look so cold ! So serious ! So _stuck-up_ ! I even wonder how you managed to make three kids to your wife ! You can be so darn intimidating ! Makes me feel quite uncomfortable at times, like you're so superior and all.

I'm sorry for your wife, though. I do like Freda. She's a lovely woman. I'm a traitor. I feel guilty for her and your kids – if Rudolph knew what happened when his father leaves the nest... Disgusting, I know.

I feel you. You're here. The window opens and you rush inside, breathtaking in your black capes. You are so classy, I feel like a clumsy homeless beside you.

My parents are supposed to be home in a few hours.

You look at me with _that_ look ; that look that says "I wanna fuck you right now and that ain't gonna be cozy" - even if you'd never speak like this.

My body is all yours. I am all yours. You know I'd let you do whatever you want. I'd do anything to make you happy – or satisfied at least.

There are nights you can be the tenderest of lovers. It's slow and gentle and sweet and so perfect I wish you had drained me of my blood so I could die happy and content. You take great care of me and we kiss and you whisper and embrace and caress and you're so passionate that I can understand how you managed to make three kids to your wife.

And there are nights you're brutal and harsh without the least of consideration for me or my body. And I bleed and I bruise and you don't care. It feels like you lose control and you hate it and you want to make me pay and you're disgusted with yourself so you just want it to be over the quickest. You become a wild beast.

Just like a tiger.

Tonight will be one of those nights.

I don't know what hurts the most though ; is it the burning pain or to know how much you hate yourself as you take your guilty pleasure inside me.

Don't hate yourself, love. You're not a monster. You're my dream.

You bite me and I close my eyes. Call it unhealthy if you wish but I love that idea of sustaining you. Makes me useful to you – and everybody wants to be useful to the person they love. I'm well aware you don't have any feelings for me – a bit of affection maybe. You just come for sex and blood. Who would have thought ? Who would have imagined Frederick Sackville-Bagg to be a sex addict ?

Not me.

You get ready to take your leave. I can see on your face all the guilt you're internally feeling for hurting me. Your expression reminds me of a kitten I once had – he would always do stupid things then pout and sulk when he realized it. You look exactly like him, as if the world had suddenly fallen onto your shoulders. I don't want you to go but I can't ask you to stay neither. You have a family who is waiting for you. I'm a mere – ephemera – distraction and meal service.

I'd do anything to make you happy but please, the day you get bored of me, don't throw me away like a common toy. Kill me instead. It'll be less painful.

You left me alone in the room once again. I'm used to it but it still hurts ; I wish I could spend at least one night in your arms.

I gaze at the clock, my parents are still not home. That's weird...


End file.
